


Lacrimosa

by Justine_Harker



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Strange Love, Teen Angst, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:35:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justine_Harker/pseuds/Justine_Harker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel indulges in some late night musing that results in an encounter with his own grief. But if I couldn't comfort my young master, what kind of butler would I be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacrimosa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [St_Ciel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/St_Ciel/gifts).



_From the Diary of Ciel Phantomhive:_

**_November 21, 1890 – Late night_ **

_I woke with a terrible start. I felt like I had been murdered a thousand violent times by my dream. It was him. He had come in through the open window of my sleep like some horrible fairytale monster breaking and destroying my peace. I was left beaten, backed against a wall of my own confusion, begging for something more substantial. Please, finish me off or leave me be._

_I decide to get up and go to the window, pulling aside the curtain to look outside. It was actually snowing; the weather had turned so cold. The landscape was changed by the covering of white and dreamlike in its softness. I dropped the curtain and let the darkness move back around me. I felt sick suddenly. Waves of nausea starting in my stomach and ending in my head made me double over. There’s sweat pouring down my face. Or are these tears? My heart is screaming in my chest. Maybe I’ll die and Sebastian will find me collapsed on the floor when he steps in with the tea trolley in the morning._

_I have to stop this. I can’t let my weakness destroy me. I was crying then, like a child, huddled in the corner with my arms around my drawn up knees. I didn’t make a sound, but somehow he still knew._

_A soft tap on my door and Sebastian is there, kneeling in front of me with his calm voice, picking me up and easing me back to bed. I don’t remember what he said, what forced words of comfort he used on me, but I accepted the reassurance and I allowed myself to be bundled back into my covers like a child, white gloves wiping the wetness of the tears from my face before taking the candle and leaving me in darkness again._

_Who are you? Your presence in this house is unnerving and amazing at the same time. I find comfort in you, yet I am absolutely terrified by you. There’s no in between and I’m stuck in this living nightmare._

**_May 11, 1891 – Early evening_ **

_There are so many things suddenly. I have so much to say and there is absolutely no way for me to say it, which is why I hide in my study scratching into this ledger._

_Time seems to be gone. This is a concept that doesn’t exist for me. I’m a child still, a young man of 15, yet I have been the head of my household for the last five years. In that space of time, I have seen and done things that are beyond the scope of my limited years on this earth. I have been involved in events that transcend explanation or reason. However, my mind craves order and I find myself working to make sense of it all._

_And to make sense of myself._

_What is it that I truly want? What’s out there for me? Is there a reason for me to open my eyes every single day, moving my way closer to my inevitable death? I want to know that I do is not meaningless. I want to know that my presence would be missed if I were to vanish. I want to know what it’s like to be able to trust someone. A strange idea when the person I trust the most isn’t a person at all but a creature from hell._

**_December 14, 1894 – Late night_ **

_Dinner came with the usual overabundance of food and drink in celebration of this day. I hardly care, but Sebastian makes it a point to mark the day, and others in society attempt to honor it as well. I allowed myself to drink with my dinner, something I hardly ever do, and now I’m feeling the effects of the wine. If this is drunkenness, this is truly horrible._

_I hate this day. I can’t sleep and only find comfort when I’m alone with my writing in front of me._

_This is where I forgot to be, the hidden part that makes my brain snap and fry until I have to put down the book and find another escape. Why do I want to live inside of these pages so badly? Why is this the only place I can find my solace when all I really want is red wine kisses and broken promises from your lying mouth? Why do you run away from me when I’m wide awake, yet you creep ever closer to my mind when I’m nearing sleep? I can’t figure out how to bring you into the daylight._

**_December 1, 1895 – Late night_ **

_I need a moment alone. I'm feeling like the wind has been sucked out of me after I've put in so much time and taken so much care. Why? Because humanity is vile and people are worse than animals. It's fairly obvious how boring and disappointing the world is. There's nothing here I really want. There's nothing worth my time. I just want to be alone and left to my thoughts._

_Then I see that you're still here. I'm so sorry. Please don't leave me. Not when I'm in a mood and feeling like this. Keep me close tonight. Hold onto me so I don't drift too far. I need your careful administrations. I need your reassurance and your presence. Even as I sleep. Don't leave me. This world hurts me. I am bruised and broken and you are the foundation that keeps me standing. Forget this horrid daylight and the blank, dull faces. I want to see you in the moonlight. I want your pale skin and your warm hands. I want your soft voice whispering your lies into incantations. If the sun never rises again and we're stuck here forever, I will die knowing that I served you well._

_My angel. My muse. Keep me warm tonight because my fire is burning dangerously low._

…

The glass was small and delicate with many intricately cut facets made for catching the light. My fingers traveled the edges of the vessel; my thumb circled the shining silver stopper and felt the heaviness of the chain as it rested in my hand. The object had a weight to it that had little or nothing to do with the physical object itself. I had been around the supernatural long enough to realize when I was in its presence.

I held the vial up to the window to see the liquid inside, clear and somewhat viscous the way it clung to the glass. This is where the weight came from, I was almost certain. I felt something somber come over me the moment I touched the blasted trinket. I longed to put it down, get it the hell away from me, but I knew by the mischievous look on Undertaker’s face that I had to keep my cards close to my chest for now. 

“So what do I want with this? A lacrimosa, isn’t it?” I asked feigning boredom.

“Can’t you guess?” the man asked with a wide grin and a tilt of his head. I couldn’t see his eyes through that ridiculous mop of gray hair that obscured most of this scarred face, but I was sure he was giving me a look of appraisal.

“No, I don’t care to play that game. My time is precious, so if you want something, get on with it or leave me be,” I said and made an attempt to return the pendant to him. It hung by its long chain from my fingers, swinging heavily, catching the fading twilight that came into the windows of my study. The Undertaker made no move to take the thing from me and only expelled that hoarse laugh of his through bared and clenched teeth.

“I’ll let the young Earl just hold onto that trinket for now until he figures out its significance. Consider it a birthday gift.”

“Is that all then?” I asked, taking the object in my other hand and letting the long chain pool around the cold glass. I kept my eyes on the man standing in my study, but noticed that the glass had indeed gotten colder and now felt like a shard of ice in my hand. I ignored the sensation and waited for any indication of what this was all about. I wouldn’t give him or anyone the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. Not after all I had been through.

“I think that’s enough. I’ll be taking my leave but you’ll know where to find me should you have any need.”

With that, the Undertaker removed himself from my study with a swirl of his dusty black coat. The scent of mold and rotting cloth clung to him and permeated the room. My nose wrinkled at the stale scent and before I could vocalize my complaint, Sebastian had returned and was throwing up the window sash and letting a cool evening breeze sweep through the room. His white glove traced the top of the chair nearest to where the Undertaker had stood. The butler scowled at the layer of grave dust that had settled.

I still held the vial in my hand and felt the cold become intense enough to burn. My flesh ached, but I couldn’t open my fingers enough to drop the horrid thing. I could only hold it tighter until I felt the sharper edges of the cut glass press into my palm, threatening to open the flesh.

A cool voice beside me spoke into my ear, “Breathe,” and I felt my grasp loosen.

The chain slipped between my fingers and hung down towards the floor and I finally turned my hand palm down and dropped the lacrimosa. The glass landed softly on the carpet, undamaged.

“I’ll fetch some balm for your hand,” Sebastian said before leaving the room. I looked down and saw the burnt imprint of the glass discoloring my palm. Seeing the damage made me feel the pain suddenly and I was nearly light headed.

I looked at the crystal where it lay still on the floor. The light seemed to be absorbed into the liquid. Even knowing that it had burned me, I was still drawn to it. I reached out to touch the shining glass.

Before I realized it, Sebastian had returned to the study and was standing over me.

“My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, ‘Where is your God?’” Sebastian said in his measured tone.

“What does that mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the tall demon.

“It’s Psalm 42:3. ‘These things I remember and I pour out my soul within me. For I used to go along with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God…”

“Just stop,” I said. I looked up at the handsome being that haunted me. His expression was so neutral that it had my teeth on edge. “Why are you quoting the bible at me?”

“Haven’t you guessed?” the demon asked with a tilt of his head.

“Guessed what? Honestly, you are just as bad as that filthy grave digger.”

I bent down to pick up the lacrimosa, careful to only touch the chain, holding the vial up so I could see the liquid inside. “It’s full of tears, then?” I asked.

“I would assume so.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I asked again. Sebastian said nothing.

I touched the vial again, and placed my fingers on the silver cap, twisting the delicate metal until it sprung loose. A wave of emotion swept through me, tearing through my chest like a well-placed saber strike.

“Young master, are you alright?” Sebastian asked. His voice seemed far away, but I felt his arms as they caught me. Apparently I was falling. I clung tight to him even as my vision swam.

“These are my tears.” Without thought I tipped the vial into my mouth, letting the liquid pass down my throat. So much sorrow in one small vessel, I think to myself as I feel the pain settle into my body like a familiar malady. Poisoned by my own misfortune.

Sebastian placed a hand against the side of my face, turning me to look at him, and then bending down to press his lips to mine. I opened to him, letting him in and he began to draw the poison out of me, pulling deep like the incubus he is. I was nearly delirious, clinging to his solid frame as he drank down every drop of the vile potion that I had imbibed. His white throat swallowed and his hands flexed, squeezing me tightly, nearly crushing me against him until I was finally released. His lips left mine and my breath returned to me in a rush. The world swam back to solid color.

“They belong to me now,” Sebastian said.

The lacrimosa had fallen to the floor again and there it stayed while the butler bandaged my damaged hand and served me a fresh cup of hot tea. I settled in at my desk to pick up my book, pen poised above the page.  


End file.
